by Kathi Daley
“I’ve eaten here before,” Velma said. “The food is good quality and the atmosphere is traditional colonial. I think it would be a good choice.”
I peeked in the window. “It doesn’t look too crowded.”
“Let’s give it a try,” Georgia suggested.
I’d turned toward the front door when I heard a deep male voice call Velma’s name.
“Royce?” Velma said with a tone of disbelief as a tall, silver-haired man with soft gray eyes jogged across the street, picked Velma up, and spun her around and around.
“Are you crazy? Put me down,” Velma demanded.
The man set her gently on the ground but continued to hang on to her shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. “I thought it was you. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I first saw you standing here, but then my heart started pounding the way it always did when you were near and I knew it was you.” The man pulled her in for another hug.
“You’re probably just having a heart attack, you crazy old coot. Now let me go.” Velma pushed away from the man’s embrace. He took a step back but still hung on to the woman who, it appeared, he was afraid would vanish much the way she’d appeared. “I thought you moved out to the Midwest,” Velma said after a moment. “Nebraska?”
“Kansas. I’ve moved back to the East Coast, though. I’m living in Delaware now. Gosh, it is good to see you.”
Georgia and I stood side by side, watching the exchange with barely suppressed amusement. Eventually, Velma remembered we were standing there.
“Royce Crawford, these are my friends, Abby Sullivan and Georgia Carter.” Velma looked back toward him. “Royce is an old friend. He lived in Holiday Bay a long time ago.”
Royce held out a hand in greeting. “It wasn’t that long ago, and we were a lot more than friends.”
I accepted Royce’s hand, trying not to ask more than I should, given the situation. Of course, Georgia wasn’t one to mince words and followed Royce’s handshake with a question about exactly how close he and Velma had been.
“We dated,” Velma said.
“Lived together,” Royce corrected. “Although I guess technically we did date as well.” He hugged Velma yet again. “Gosh, it is good to see you. What has it been? Ten, fifteen years?”
“Twenty-five,” Velma corrected.
Royce looked genuinely shocked. “Has it been that long? I never would have imagined. You look exactly as you did on the day I left town.”
“You always did have bad eyesight,” Velma grumbled.
The man chuckled. “Are you on the island for long? I’d love to catch up.”
“Just until tomorrow morning.”
“How about dinner tonight?”
Velma hesitated.
“Come on, Vel. It’s not every day you run into the love of your life on some random street corner where neither of you even live. If you ask me, our meeting has to be destiny.”
“I’m here with friends,” Velma answered.
Royce looked at Georgia and me. “Is it okay if I borrow your friend for a while?”
I glanced at Velma, unsure what to say. If she wanted to have dinner with the man, it was more than okay, but if she didn’t …
“It seems your hearing is on the fritz, old man,” Velma said before either Georgia or I could respond. “I said I was here with my friends. Not my parents and not my keepers. Seems it is my permission you need if you want to take me out, not theirs.”
I put a hand over my mouth to suppress a grin I could no longer contain despite my best efforts.
Royce smiled. “Oh, I love that sass. So how about it? We can go wherever you want. No strings and no drama, I promise. I just want to talk. See how life’s been treating you.”
“Six thirty. The Lobster House. I’ll meet you there.”
The man nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”
With that, the man kissed Velma full on the lips and continued on down the street.
“Who was that?” Georgia asked after he was out of earshot.
“Royce Crawford. I introduced you. Weren’t you listening?”
“Yes, I was listening,” Georgia said. “What I meant was—”
“What she meant was,” I interrupted, “that your friend seems very nice and if you want to tell us more about your relationship, we will happily listen, but we will also respect your privacy.”
Georgia glanced at me. “Yes, that is what I meant.”
“There’s not much to tell,” Velma said. “Shortly after my husband and I divorced, I met Royce. We dated for a while, and yes, he even moved in with me for about five minutes. After a bit he got a job offer in Kansas and left. I imagine he thought I would tag along after him like a trained dog, but that was ridiculous. What was I gonna do in Kansas? He tried to convince me to give it a try, but after a few pathetic phone calls begging me to come out for a visit, I told him I was already dating someone new and not to bother me again.”
“Were you dating someone else?” Georgia asked.
“No. But he didn’t need to know that. Now, are we going to eat or not?”
“Yes.” I pulled open the door to the restaurant. “We are going to eat. I’m starving and something smells wonderful.”
The food and the décor, as Velma had promised, was perfect. I very badly wanted to find out more about Velma and her mysterious guy, but she didn’t bring him up, so I allowed the conversation to segue naturally to the bountiful antique stores that could be found on the island. I was at the point in the remodel where I was ready to start thinking about furnishings, so the idea of checking out some of the shops was appealing. Of course, Georgia was all for shopping, but Velma claimed to be tired and asked us to drop her back at the inn. I had a feeling that her encounter with Royce had affected her a lot more than she wanted to let on, so I agreed to take her back to the inn, where I imagined she’d spend some time dealing with her mixed emotions.
“What did you make of Royce?” Georgia asked when it was just the two of us.
“He is very handsome. And based on the quality of his clothing, wealthy as well. He seemed to have genuine feelings for Velma and from the way she blushed when she spoke to him, I think she might have feelings for him as well.”
“I’ve certainly never seen quite that amount of sass from her. Not that she isn’t one to speak her mind, but I felt like this blast from her past brought out a whole other side of her I hadn’t previously seen.”
I slowed my pace to browse at a window display. “I wonder what happened. Royce called Velma ‘the love of his life.’ It doesn’t seem to me you would leave the love of your life for a job. I have the feeling there must be more to it.”
“Yeah,” Georgia agreed.
“If he left twenty-five years ago, Velma must have been around thirty-five. I don’t know her exact age, but I’m guessing she is around sixty.”
“Maybe she’ll want to talk about it after she sees him again tonight,” Georgia said.
“Maybe. Let’s go into this store. I want to take a closer look at those dishes.”
Georgia paused at a display of blue bowls, plates, and serving pieces. The bowls were a lighter shade of sapphire, the plates sort of a bright royal, and the serving pieces a deep navy. “These would look good with the white pieces you ordered for the kitchen, although I was picturing a bright, robin’s-egg blue for the accent pieces.”
“That would be pretty,” I agreed. “I feel like the navy is too dark. I like the royal blue plates, and you can never have too many plates. Maybe we’ll buy a few of them to mix in with whatever else we end up with. I saw some dark gray plates at the last store we looked in. I might go back and pick up some of those as well. Lacy has convinced me that not everything has to match exactly as long as the pieces complement each other.”
“I agree. Oh, look at that old rocker in the corner.”
Georgia crossed the room and paused at a chair that looked as if it could be at least a hundred years old. She ran a hand over the armrest and then carefully sat down, m
oving back and forth just a tad.
“It’s a beautiful chair,” I said.
“It is. But I feel like it might be too fragile to use in the inn.” Georgia stood up. “Check out this high chair.”
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “Again, though, I don’t think it is practical for the inn. While I want to utilize antiques for authenticity, I don’t want to furnish the place with items I have to worry about guests damaging. Some of these really old pieces seem like they should be in a museum, not an inn.”
“Agreed. Let’s continue down the street. There is a kitchen store I want to check out. We walked by earlier and I glanced in the window. It looked as if they carried a wide variety of specialty gadgets.”
I smiled. “One can never have too many gadgets.”
Chapter 8
I’d never seen Velma so nervous as she’d been when she left on foot for her date. I’d offered to drive her, but she’d insisted that the restaurant where she’d agreed to meet Royce wasn’t far and she had nervous energy to burn. I made a comment about us not waiting up, which earned me a scowl. Georgia and I decided to dine at an Italian eatery we’d seen while shopping earlier in the day. It, too, was within walking distance and it was a mild evening, so we set off on foot shortly after Velma.
“Nikki texted me earlier to let me know that the kids are all fine, and that the mud had dried up along the bluff, so she took Ramos out for a long walk, which I’m sure he enjoyed,” Georgia informed me.
“I’m hoping we’ve seen the end of the rain for a while,” I commented. “I’m hoping to get started on the landscaping within the next few weeks.”
I paused in front of an antique store we hadn’t visited that afternoon. It was located on a side street and we’d only had time to visit the shops along the main thoroughfare. The store had closed over an hour earlier, but the interior light was still on and there was a woman inside cleaning up. She looked up and saw us staring in through the window and waved. I waved back. She motioned for us to come in. I glanced at Georgia, who nodded, so we opened the still-unlocked door and entered the eclectic little shop.
“Are you open?” I asked as I walked in.
“Not technically, but I’m here late taking care of some cleaning, so if you want to look around, I don’t mind.”
Georgia grabbed my arm and pointed to a sketch on the wall. It was another one of my house, only from a different angle. I walked toward it to verify that it, too, was done by CW.
“This sketch,” I said, lifting it off the wall. “Do you know who the artist was?”
“His named was Chamberlain Westminster. He was an Englishman who lived first in Massachusetts and then Maine for a couple of years in the late nineteenth century. The house in the sketch was built by him.”
“I own this house,” I said.
“Oh! You must be the woman who is going to open the inn,” the shopkeeper said.
I raised a brow. “You’ve heard of my inn? All the way here on Nantucket?”
The woman nodded. “I’m on your mailing list. I visit Maine from time to time and was there in December. Everyone in town was talking about your enterprise. I have to say that opening an inn in that old house was a brilliant decision. I think you are going to have a real success.” The woman held out her hand. “I’m Adrianna.”
“Abby,” I answered. “And this is Georgia.” I glanced back at the sketch. “Do you know anything more about the artist? I’m sure you can understand that his story has caught my interest.”
Adrianna walked over to the counter, opened a drawer, and pulled out an old journal. She turned to a page toward the middle. “This journal belonged to my great-grandmother. She was interested in art and kept tabs on a number of regional artists. She used this journal to take notes on them, which has helped me immensely in my business. In fact, one of the reasons I have been so successful is because of the background information I can provide on a lot of the items I sell.”
“I can see that would be a huge benefit,” I agreed.
“Is there an entry on Chamberlain Westminster?” Georgia asked.
“Yes, there is. According to Grandma’s entry on Chamberlain Westminster, he arrived on the art scene in 1892. He was the eldest son of a prosperous industrialist who came to New England to line up customers for his import/export business. It seems that while Westminster was expected to inherit the family business, his real love was art, so he made a point of making acquaintances in the art community. According to the journal, he enjoyed sketching buildings, and soon became known for his drawings of some of the historical places in New England, particularly those associated with the Revolutionary War era. In 1894, he met a woman named Abagail who lived along the coast of Maine not far from Holiday Bay. He built her the house you now own and they married in 1895. She died shortly after and he went back to England.”
“I want to buy this sketch,” I said. “I don’t suppose you have others by Westminster?”
“Not at the moment, but I would be happy to take your name and number and notify you if I find other work by him.”
I looked at the price tag on the sketch and cringed. It was quite a bit more than the one I’d found at the antique store that had been on its way out of business where I found the first sketch, but I wanted it anyway. “I’d appreciate that,” I responded. “Mastercard okay?”
I didn’t have my car and didn’t want to carry the sketch around with me that night, so I paid for it and arranged to pick it up the following morning on our way off the island.
“Now that we know that Westminster did other sketches that may very well be offered for sale by other antique stores and art dealers, we should do a search to see if we can come up with them,” Georgia suggested. “I love the idea that Westminster’s art will end up in the house he built.”
“It does seem pretty perfect,” I agreed as we arrived at the restaurant. The place was busy, but not overly so. We were shown to a table for two near a window. I ordered a bottle of wine for us to share, and the waiter brought a basket with warm garlic bread for us to nibble on while we considered the menu.
“I wonder how Velma is doing with Royce,” I said as I tried to decide between seafood lasagna and crab-stuffed ravioli with a creamy garlic sauce and baby asparagus.
“I think that once she gets over her nervousness, she is going to enjoy catching up with her old friend,” Georgia said. “It seemed like he really adored her. Even if he felt he needed to move at the time, I wonder why he never came back to visit her in twenty-five years.”
“She did tell him she’d moved on. I suppose he might have as well.”
“I guess that is probably true. He might even have been married until recently.” Georgia frowned. “I suppose he might even be married now. He didn’t say, and Velma didn’t ask.”
I closed the menu and set it at the edge of the table to let the waiter know we were ready to order. “I suppose that another relationship might have played into his long absence. I didn’t get the sense that he was currently in a relationship, but then again, all he really did was invite an old friend to dinner to catch up, so I suppose that even if he is involved, he didn’t do anything wrong. I just hope that Velma hasn’t read the situation wrong. I’d hate for her to get hurt.”
“Velma can take care of herself.”
I smiled at the waiter, who had just arrived. I ordered the crab ravioli with a salad and Georgia chose manicotti with a bowl of Italian wedding soup. We both declined an appetizer as the waiter topped off our wine. I was about to ask about any side trips Georgia might want to take on our drive home when I got a text from Lonnie letting me know that Bobby had located both the secret drawer and the number I had called to tell him about after our chat with TJ.
“It’s Lonnie,” I said. “He has news.” I looked around the room. “I’m going to step outside to call him. I won’t be long. If the waiter brings our first course, ask him for some grated Romano.”
I hurried across the restaurant to the front doo
r and slipped out into the chilly night. Finding a place under a streetlamp, I called Lonnie.
“So what did you find?” I asked.
“First of all, the number on the mantel is seventy-six. Hopefully, that will help you with the authentication of the piece.”
“It should. Can you shoot me a photo of both the number and the signature?”
“I can and will when I get back to the house tomorrow.”
“And the secret drawer?” I asked about the thing I was most interested in.
“There is a small latch under the ledge that runs along the front of the mantel. When we opened it, we found a sapphire necklace and a note that says, ‘Scarlett’s at nine’ inside.”
“Who is Scarlett?” I asked, barely able to breathe.
“We don’t know. There was a Scarlett’s Wharf in Colonial Boston, so the note could point to a meeting there. It could also refer to a person named Scarlett, or even a tavern named Scarlett’s. There is really no way to know for sure without information we don’t have.”
“Okay, then who did the necklace belong to?”
“I have no idea. The necklace is large and intricate. There is a huge sapphire in the center, and the whole thing is surrounded with diamonds. It looks to my untrained eye to be pretty valuable. A jeweler might be able to give you more information about it.”
“I’ll look in to it when I get home. It would be fun to know who the necklace belonged to and why it was hidden in the mantel. Thanks for calling and letting me know what you found. We should be home at some point tomorrow. Will you be at the house?”
“I’ll be there through the afternoon.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
I ended the call and returned to the restaurant. Georgia was eating her soup as I sat down and started on my salad.
“So?” Georgia asked.
“Lonnie found a secret drawer with a sapphire necklace and a note that says, ‘Scarlett’s at nine.’”
“That is so awesome. And so romantic. I bet the necklace was left by an English soldier who fell in love with a Colonial girl. Given the political climate, he would have felt unable to see her in public.”